


rubatosis

by alastia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A preview of a fic I'm writing!, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, It's not -that- graphic but it's important, M/M, Military, Partial Memory Loss, Tags are gonna be edited bc frankly idk what to tag this as, The rating is for severe injury and blood, War, almost forgot the most important one, deals with Shiro's developed PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alastia/pseuds/alastia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s running. He’s running, he’s running and he’s bleeding but he can’t stop if he wants to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rubatosis

**Author's Note:**

> AFTER A YEAR I'LL FINALLY BE WRITING A PROPER FIC AGAIN. WITH _PLOT AND STUFF_. I'm so excited for all the research. I've been meaning to do a Military/War fic since January/February. And so take this little preview of what's to come! (This just kept getting longer so I thought heck, post it to ao3 as well.  
>  I terribly apologise for inaccuracies. I haven't done any research _just yet_ , but I promise that will happen. I also know that style-wise, this piece might come off as a little... _strange_ , but that was actually intentional.
> 
> I listened to **[this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2RK6OGNMCY)** on repeat—and so should probably you, too! It really fits the mood of this ´v`
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

He’s running. He’s running, he’s running and he’s bleeding but he can’t stop if he wants to survive.

Shiro’s uniform is drenched in blood, right arm ripped away from him. The adrenaline and panic and _fear_ save him from the excruciating pain he’s prone to experience, leeway for him to _find shelter_ first. To _get away from here_ as fast as he can.

The scenery rushes by, a blur of green and brown with the setting sun. Explosions and gunfire are still within range. He needs to _get_ _ **away**_ from here. _Move, move, move._

* * *

_“What about Shirogane, Sir?”_

_“He won’t survive for long with that wound.”_  

* * *

He trips, clutches his damaged arm and falls to his knees. It throbs. _It trobs_. Dull, but not. His uniform is heavy and sticky but taking it off would be too painful. Would require too much movement. His legs are shaking, shaking, mind spinning but there’s _no_ _ **time**_. He has been planning to escape for _weeks_ now—if he doesn’t make it...

He doesn’t complete that thought.

A stab, right at his nerves. Electricity setting him aflame, coursing through his veins. Makes his entire body spasm and freeze; his vision flickers to black like a candle blown out. Silence. _Thud, thud, thud_.

Shiro recollects himself. Takes a deep breath, as much as his lungs allow . Slowly sits back and counts to three; waits for the pain to settle down, just a little.

Then he grits his teeth and presses the sole of his foot against his other calf to hold his pants in place. Tugs—nothing. A panicked and hopeless whine scratches and bruises the depths of his throat, but he has to remain calm. _Remain calm_. His hand is shaking. _My hand, my only hand—_

 _Inhale_ —he tries again. Tugs, tugs, tugs like trying to start a dying engine with sweaty hands barely able to hold on. There's that whine again, so he stops. Pauses, clasps and unclasps the dirtied palm. _Remain calm. Relax._

He releases the numbing tension in his shoulders. Settles the acid in his stomach threatening to rise. Closes his eyes even when there's still screams and gunfire in range. Distant, but not far enough. He has to move. _Has to move_.

_You're fine. You're hidden. You're fine. You're free. They can't get you. You're **fine**._

Shiro grabs on to the edge, presses his foot hard enough to bruise, and pulls.

The sound of fabric tearing cuts through the air, cuts through flesh. It doesn't matter. It doesn't hurt.

“ _Yes...!_ ” Shiro chokes, the first smile on dried and bloody lips since years. With hurried motions he tears more, up his leg; follows the seams back down. He wraps it around his arm even if only to _stop the bleeding_ just a little.

He applies a little pressure; chokes. Bites back the tears but allows himself to experience the pain. _“Accepting it is the quickest way to making progress,”_ the words long said ring in his mind.

 _Breathe,_ he tells himself even as his lungs burn and shoulders threaten to shake. Even as he is collapsing within himself like a dying star. Even as the things he witnessed will haunt him like a shadow.

He ties a knot as best as he can. And with a grunt, he pushes himself off the ground. Every muscle aches, strained. Bleeding, bleeding, _there’s so much blood am I—_

(Black hair, purple eyes. Round eyes. Child’s eyes. Known, when they shouldn’t—)

Shiro closes his eyes; steps forward. Moves despite his arm throbbing with every erratic beat of his heart. Pushes aside the flicker of something resembling the broken shard of a memory, and marches on.

Fallen leaves crunch under his soles, the quickly dropping temperature and cool air biting at his skin, crawling up his exposed leg. The sun dips lower, lower, final rays blinking between thick stems. Leaves fading into orange and black illuminated in bright gold—but Shiro can’t stop to appreciate the beauty of it all.

The trees are dying, and so is he.

And then there’s a rustle, closer than it should have been able to get to him without letting him notice.

Shiro spins on his heels—and regrets it within the same heartbeat.

(Black hair, purple eyes. Hardened eyes; grown up. Know, when they shouldn’t—)

Shiro’s world fades to black, arm pounding, pounding, cloth tainted in blood and sticking to his skin. Head ringing, ringing, the gasping shout of the voice drowned out, far away.

He doesn’t feel hitting the ground. He doesn’t feel the gloved hands brushing away his bangs. Doesn’t see eyes widening in recognition and disbelief; the stutter of a breath in panic as Keith notices the wound and _blood_. There's _so much blood_.

“ _Shit_ ,” Keith hisses under his breath as his head snaps into the direction of his shack. _Will I make it? What the_ hell _happened to you?_ _There's so much blood, Shiro._

Keith takes a deep breath. Feels the air expand and sting, battling for space with the rapid beat of his heart. The thoughts in his mind turn into static, and so he lets his body guide him instead.

Shiro is bigger than him. Heavier. More muscles. So Keith picks him up on his back and runs. Runs, runs, runs, lets his feet carry him over grass and fallen leaves, falling like Shiro’s heartrate—

Keith runs for his life.

**Author's Note:**

> (Also on [tumblr](http://crucies.tumblr.com/post/149339345373/sheith-rubatosis)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/alastias/status/767848897024782336)!)  
> This was really fun! I tried things I don't usually do, like including thoughts. And I also played a _tiiiny_ bit with format, here.  
>  Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know if you'd like to read more of this! Have a lovely day~ ´v`<3


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